But for myself? Hardly any. I was a perfectionist, and nothing was good enough for my standards. Not even my best.
“You ready to get back out there with your team?” Ford asked the little girl. “They need you in the field. No one catches a pop fly like you do.”
Swiping the back of her hand over her eyes, she nodded and bumped her fist against Ford’s when he held his out to her. She picked up her glove and ran to her position on the field, shooting her teammates a bright smile, her spirit clearly lifted.
Ford stood then and glanced over at me, his ball cap low over his eyes, and shot me a grin. Butterflies erupted in my stomach at the single, inconsequential glance.
I’d just finally acknowledged that it was okay to enjoy our bedroom activities. That it was perfectly acceptable to allow him to make me come since he seemed to have a knack for it and did so amazingly. And weweremarried, after all, so it wasn’t like either of us could get it elsewhere.
But now? After witnessing that?
I was beginning to worry I might actuallylikemy husband.
* * *
“You mindif we stop someplace on the way home?” Ford asked, driving us away from the ballpark. One of his hands rested on the steering wheel, the other on my thigh, his thumb brushing over my skin. His fingers were tucked absent-mindedly beneath the hem of my sundress, and this was not good. Not good at all.
“Sure,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. Pretending like I wasn’t freaking out on the inside over my shocking realization on the bleachers.
How the hell had this happened? How had Iletthis happen? He was supposed to be my rival. My nemesis. The one person who’d challenged nearly every high school success I’d had, who’d made the planned dominoes of my future to land off track, caused so many of those early disappointments and so much harsh criticism from my parents… And he was starting to get under my skin.
Worse, I was beginning to wonder if I’d been wrong about him all along.
Had he always been the guy he’d shown me these past few weeks as his wife? The guy who laughed freely, who offered himself up on a silver platter in the name of a fundraiser, who gave a pep talk to a disappointed eight-year-old… The guy who brought his fake wife flowers and ice cream and emotional support coffees and subtly but firmly put Dr. Dicknose in his place anytime he was around.
“Shouldn’t take too long,” he said. “Bob called during practice and left a message that the new uniforms are ready. And then we can pick up some Chinese on the way home.”
Which was, unsurprisingly, what I’d been craving all week, though I couldn’t remember ever actually voicing it. But Ford was more astute than I’d given him credit for, especially when it came to me.
He pulled into the parking lot of Bob’s Sports Shop and put his Jeep into park. “You want to stay out here or come in?”
I unbuckled my seat belt, knowing if I waited in the car, I’d just fixate on everything that had been knocking around in my brain, and that absolutely was not a good use of my time or focus. “I’ll come in. I want to see these uniforms you willingly got dunked for.”
“Yeah, they better be fucking amazing, or I’m gonna be pissed.” His laughter belied his words as he climbed out of the car and strode around to my side, meeting me at the hood. Without hesitation, he grabbed my hand, linking our fingers together as if it were second nature, and guided us inside.
Bob’s was a small, family-owned shop. A glass case full of varying trophy styles took up the far wall behind the counter, and racks filled up the rest of the store, showcasing several uniform offerings.
“Ford,” an older white man with a bald head and a wide smile greeted him. “Looks like you got my message.”
“Hey, Bob. You got the goods?”
“Sure do. And they’re real beauts.” He opened up a box and pulled out a royal-blue jersey. It had their team name in bright white on the front and an embroidered19below Starlight Cove Resort’s logo on the back. “I think you made an excellent choice with these. The kids are gonna love them.”
“That they are,” Ford agreed, running his fingers over the embroidery, a smile tipping up the corners of his mouth. “What’s the damage?”
Bob shuffled through some papers before announcing the total, and my eyes nearly bugged out. But Ford just nodded as if he’d been expecting it. The thing was, I knew exactly how much the dunk tank fundraiser had made, and it only covered a little more than half of the total.
“You want the rest of this on the resort’s tab?” Bob asked, handwriting a receipt like we were back in 1953.
“Nah, put it on this.” Ford plucked a credit card from his wallet and slid it across the counter toward Bob.
And goddammit.Goddammit.
The hits just kept coming.
Why did he have to be a genuinely good guy…a truly kind person? And why did I have to suddenly become aware of it?
I knew I should be happy about this. Happy about the fact that I was beginning to actually like—not just tolerate—my husband, but I feared that would only complicate things further.
